


Under the Table

by masseylass



Series: User Requests [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Boobjobs, Cheating, Erotica, F/M, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22001356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Johnny has had a crush on Holly for years. Unfortunately, Holly is married to his lazy, obnoxious older brother. Despite this being the case, Holly starts to demonstrate feelings toward Johnny, feelings neither of them can deny any longer.
Series: User Requests [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583734
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Under the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [5mart_1di0t](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5mart_1di0t/gifts).



> This story was requested by user 5mart_1di0t. "I will love to request a cheating story where a wife seduces her husband's younger brother and fucks him behind her husband's back." Their description also involved things like handjobs, boobjobs and blowjobs taking place under a table during dinner. Ask and you shall receive! 
> 
> **Edit: I didn't know "gifting" was a thing so I just officially gifted this lmao. Sorry for the delay.**
> 
> -
> 
> I take requests! See end notes.

I hated going over to my brother Mark’s for the holidays. Don’t get me wrong, I cared about Mark (at least more than I cared about the rest of our family) but holidays hadn’t been the same since my parents stopped talking to me. I used to like seeing them string up Christmas lights and put up lawn decorations, but after high school – after I fucked up – it all lost its appeal.

I get it. I stole. I did drugs. And I paid. I guess being two years sober wasn’t enough to win back the folks’ affection. I think what really crushed them was that I was the “smart” one; Mark was the black belt, the team captain, but me? I got scholarships. I got accepted into university. Did I actually go? No. I hung around town, snorting and drinking away what little money I had while the rest of the world went by. Mark got married – I was invited to the wedding but didn’t go – and got a house with his wife, Holly.

Shortly after their wedding, Holly insisted, _insisted_ Mark invite me over for Christmas. I lived in a shitty apartment back then so sometimes I would go over to Mark’s to shower or do laundry, but that was it. We’d make awkward conversation and I’d go home to my broken hot water heater and drink another bottle of Jack. But Holly wanted me to stay, to socialize, to reinsert myself into my family’s lives. Why? 

Turns out I actually knew Holly. She was at this party I went to a few years back – the designated driver, I think – and once I remembered who she was it all clicked into place. She stood out from everyone else at the party, not because of her wild, red curls or her square-frame glasses or the candid smirk that hung on her face, but because she was playing Scattergories alone in a corner petting the host’s cat. How do you even play that game alone? 

When I approached her, I realized she was writing words into columns, timing herself to see how quickly she could win. I guess she did win, because the timer buzzed and she hissed, “Yesss!” She glanced up, adjusted her glasses, and said, “I always win.”

“Do you always play alone?” I asked, sipping my beer, one of the few times I was glad I wasn’t hammered.

“Uh, yeah? How do you think I always win?”

We ended up talking for a while on the back porch. She seemed distressed at first, but then I realized it’s because she didn’t get to pet the cat anymore. I retrieved the big, white furball for her for which she was grateful. She sat in the patio chair, bundled up from the cold in her denim jacket with the flannel lining, holding the cat like a baby. She told me she was twenty-five (I was only nineteen), a Capricorn, nearsighted, liked word games, hated the summer, didn’t really drink, and really, _really_ wanted to marry a big, handsome cat so she could give birth to a beautiful baby cat of her own someday. I remember laughing. Not only was she gorgeous, but she had a genuine sense of humor. 

Well, one thing led to another, and Holly ended up driving me back to my apartment. She came inside. I showed her where I kept the empty beer cans and roach carcasses. Seriously though, it was a real shithole, and I can’t believe it didn’t scare her off. She flopped on the couch and said, “So what’s going on, Johnny?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re nineteen, drunk, and live alone. What’s going on.” This time it wasn’t a question. 

I don’t know what compelled me to talk about everything. There was just something so real about her, like she was really there to help me. Why wasn’t she back at the party with her drunk girlfriends? Why stick around and talk to me? My apartment smelled bad, hell, _I_ probably smelled bad! Still, I told her everything, about how I started stealing my parent’s and brother’s stuff, how I drank too much and did cocaine, and how my parents finally got sick of me and kicked me to the curb. I had a part-time job (whenever I showed up for work, anyway) that barely paid my rent and phone bills. Every day was a struggle to get clean, hell, even to want to live. I tried going back to my folks, but they wouldn’t have it. I was a mess. Why even bother anymore?

Holly just sat there and nodded, and said, “You’ll get clean.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. 

“You’ll get clean, Johnny. This isn’t you.” She stood up, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Keep in touch, alright?”

I didn’t. The next time I saw Holly’s face was five years later on my brother’s wedding invitation. Guess they met by happenstance. Small world, right? Like I said, I didn’t recognize her at first. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time when I was over at Mark and Holly’s when I realized she was the girl from the party all those years ago. She snorted, called me an idiot, and fed me a grilled cheese sandwich. That’s the day I started getting sober.

The next two years were wild. Holly’s (and by proxy, Mark’s) patience and generosity encouraged me to get clean. I eventually saved up enough to move into a less-shitty apartment, and even scored myself a full-time job. Never thought I’d become a mariner (I didn’t even know those still existed) but there I was, spending hours and hours on fishing boats, bringing in fresh food for the markets. Not a glamorous job, but I was good at it.

In the meantime, Mark was working as a high school football coach. He used to be a lumberjack, and he sure looked the part: tall, with a large build and a big ol’ beard (the exact opposite of me: shorter, leaner, and cleanshaven.) Anyway, a back injury kept him off the job. He gained a bunch of weight after, but hey, he seemed happy working with kids instead.

How do I put this nicely? Holly was a _lot_ smarter than Mark. She and I could hold conversations for hours about anything. Funny conversations, serious conversations, you name it. Mark though? He had the attention span of a prepubescent child. It got worse after his injury, too. Holly didn’t have the mental patience to converse with Mark, and Mark didn’t have the physical energy to keep up with Holly. They went to work – Mark as a coach and Holly as a social worker – came home, had an obsequious dinner, and went to bed.

At that point, I had started hanging out at Mark and Holly’s more often. Mark would watch sports and go to bed by nine, so I’d stay up with Holly and help her finish the dishes. One Friday night, right after Mark went away for the weekend for some out-of-state game with his kids, I ended up keeping Holly company. We had just finished dinner when Holly reached for a bottle of wine, stopped herself, and said, “Oh, sorry.”

“Go ahead. I’m good.”

“You sure, Johnny?”

I nodded. “Yeah, have at it.”

We played board games and drank – her with her wine and me with my ginger ale – until midnight, maybe one in the morning. I wasn’t scheduled to head back out to sea until late the next day, so I didn’t mind. Half way through her bottle of wine, she was giggling and somehow still kicking my ass. 

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough,” I said, “the more you drink the better you get…somehow…and that’s a superpower the world isn’t ready for.” 

Holly giggled again, cheeks rosy like a painted, porcelain doll only with more freckles. She brushed back her wild hair and her laughter died down. Her shoulders still moved though. That’s when I realized her laughter had turned into tears. She sat cross-legged on the dining chair in her plaid pajamas, sobbing over the table.

“Hey…what’s the matter?”

She sniffled, wiping some snot away from her pink nose. “Mark.”

“What about him?”

“Are you fucking kidding, Johnny?” She glared at me. “Are you saying you haven’t noticed how lazy he’s gotten?”

“I mean, he _did_ get injured on the job.” 

“Yeah, almost a year ago! Look, I get it, his back still hurts sometimes, but the least he can do is help out around the house, or do a dish every once in a while, or hey, I know, maybe he can actually fuck me!”

I widened my eyes and took a long drink of my ginger ale like that was going to help me or something. I didn’t want to know about Mark’s love life. Yikes. But Holly obviously needed someone to talk to, so I sat there and took it. It was the least I could do in return for everything she’d done for me.

“Do you know how long it’s been, Johnny? Jesus Christ. You don’t even wanna know.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“Sometimes I think I should have done more than just kiss you.”

I choked on my drink. “What?”

“Back when I first met you, I wanted to hook up with you so bad. But you were nineteen. I mean, it’s less weird now because you’re older, but.”

“It’s not less weird,” I argued. “You’re married to my brother, it’s way, _way_ weirder.”

“I meant the age gap, dumbass. Do you want a cookie? I made cookies for Mark in a haphazard attempt to extinguish the burning rope headed straight for the puddle of gasoline that is our marriage.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh. She had such a unique way with words. “No thank you.”

“They’re chocolate chip. They’re Mark’s favorite. See? They’re right there.” She pointed to the counter. “He forgot to take them on his trip, even though I wrote his name on the bag and left a note inside saying how much I love him.”

Oof. Yeah, that sucked. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Ugh. I should go to bed. Feel free to crash in the guest room, or you know, don’t. Whatever. Night Johnny.”

“Goodnight.” I watched her stagger into the bedroom. I really did feel bad for her. Mark was a kind person, but he was even denser than those cookies were. (Okay, so maybe I had one. Or three.) I knew my brother just forgot them; leaving the cookies there wasn’t an act of malice. It was a combination of obliviousness, oversight, and blind stupidity. Of course, a year of that would have driven me crazy too. Was it really wrecking their marriage, though?

The simple answer was yes. Yes it was.

Every time I hung out with Holly alone she complained about Mark. Then, Holly started acting out. The things she did weren’t terrible in and of themselves, but they were things that a successful, intelligent, married person doesn’t typically do, at least not all at once. First, she started getting tattoos. And you know what? That’s great. I have a few myself (several of which, I admit, were mistakes I made during my cocaine benders) but the ones I could afford to get done properly cover most of my arms and I like them. The quality of my ink improved with better planning and less coke. Holly though? One day I hugged her goodbye and went out to sea and a couple weeks later, I rolled back into town and she had a lower-back tattoo of a butterfly. A month later and she had two half-sleeves. I mean, they weren’t bad – colorful and floral with little garnishes here and there – but still. She had gone from completely tattooless to moderately tattooed within the span of a month, month and a half.

Then came the piercings. One on her tongue and three in her nose: a septum and a stud on either nostril. Again, something I typically found attractive, but made me worry because this was Holly we were talking about, the girl who wasn’t even drinking at that party all those years ago.

She started cracking _way_ darker jokes too. I mean, she always had a dry sense of humor, but this was stuff that was borderline savage. Mark would forget to take out the trash and Holly would say “I took you out to eat last week. If I can take out the trash, then so can you.”

I wasn’t thrilled with the way she was treating my brother, but after a while, I started to understand. The more I hung out with Holly, the more I realized I was there because Mark wasn’t pulling his own weight. Speaking of, he had gained _a lot._ But in the metaphorical sense, he really wasn’t doing much around the house. He’d leave out dirty dishes, “forget” Holly’s hand-made lunches (to the point where she just stopped making them) and started spending way too much time on the couch drinking beer. Every time I went to their house, Mark was in one of three places: at work, at the bar with his buddies, or planted firmly in his recliner scratching his gut and burping. 

I showed up at Holly’s (and Mark’s) one day after a long, long trip out to sea. It was hands-down the worst time I ever had out there. I wasn’t the queasy type, but we hit such a bad, unexpected storm that I spent half the trip either lying on my bunk, groaning, or soaking wet on deck trying to keep our equipment from flying everywhere. By the time we pulled into port, I was exhausted. And to make matters worse, my apartment’s hot water heater was broken. I lived in a decent place, but the water heater breaking reminded me of that shithole I used to live in back when I was drunk and high, the place with the roaches, the place Holly drove me home to after getting drunk at that party. I collected some of my clothes and headed straight over to the suburbs.

I knocked twice and let myself in. Holly was sitting cross-legged in the living room with a controller in her hands. “Hey hey,” I said.

“Is it actually possible to find all the dragon priests?” she asked, pushing her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been playing Skyrim for _ever_ and I’ve only killed like four of them. Damn it!” she cursed. “Look at this asshole and his fireballs. Piece of shit. Oh by the way there’s leftovers in the fridge. You just get back?”

“Yup.” I turned the corner. The kitchen and living room were separated by a wall, an open, arched entrance on either side. I could still hear Holly cursing at her video game as I tossed my pack down and heated up some leftover pizza. Afterward I joined her in the living room, watching her play from the couch. I guess she defeated whatever she was fighting because she was busy opening chests and swapping out armor. 

Holly glanced over her shoulder. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Yeah.” I took a bite of pizza. I had forgotten how nice it was to actually want to eat, and I was freaking starving.

“Bad trip?”

“Hit a storm so bad I almost puked.”

“You don’t get seasick.”

“I know, right?”

“Speaking of which, guess who’s pregnant?” She glanced back over her shoulders and wiggled her eyebrows at me, hazel eyes bright as ever.

I actually dropped my pizza onto the ground. “Holy shit.” I felt…strange. Not in a great way, either. I felt like I did back on the ship, uncomfortable and nauseous, wanting to be anywhere but there. I wasn’t a huge fan of Holly and Mark having a kid, at least not right now, not when their relationship was still on the rocks. Things really weren’t looking good for either of them. How was a child going to fix that? Besides, I dunno…the idea of her having a kid in general…

Wait. Was I…jealous?

Suddenly, her lips twitched. “What? No! Not me idiot! Jess! Your sister! Fuck bruh!”

I physically exhaled. Hoooly shit. 

“Besides, I got my tubes tied behind Mark’s back.”

“What?” My stomach turned again. That really didn’t sit well with me. Who _does_ that? “Seriously?”

“Jesus, no!” she cried out. I exhaled yet again. “You are really not on top of your game tonight.” 

Ordinarily I loved Holly’s dark humor, but that night I wasn’t feeling it. “Sorry. I guess I’m just tired.” I picked my pizza slice up off the floor, thought about dusting it off and taking a bite, then decided against it. I was a grown-up now. I needed to throw it away like a sane human being. 

“Dude just eat it,” she said. I did. 

A much-needed shower took place afterward. Once I was through, I poked my head out the door. Nobody was in the hall. Excellent. I could sneak off to the guest bedroom in my chonies and get some sleep. I didn’t make it two feet before a distracted Holly came barreling out of her bedroom right across the hall. We slammed into each other, her curvy body against my slender one. Her head bonked my nose. 

Each of us started cackling. I went to sidestep and so did she, only we went in the same direction. This made us laugh harder. I went the other way, and wouldn’t you know it, so did Holly. Jesus Christ. We laughed some more. Finally, we both just stopped and stared at each other, my blue eyes locked to her hazel ones. Her smile fell. And then…

Holly slammed me against the wall by my hips, her delicate hands firm against my sides. She was kissing me. _Hard._

I couldn’t. Just…no. Mark was my brother. I would never. Maybe I would have done something that stupid years ago before I got my life together, but now, I had things like decency, tact, and some semblance of a family, and I wasn’t about to ruin any of that for some girl, even if it was Holly. The only catch was that all of that was apparently a big, fat lie, because I was kissing her back twice as hard. 

Tongues clashing, Holly grabbed the waistband of my briefs and hauled me backwards into hers and Mark’s bedroom, jerking me down on the bed. I was already hard. My groin collided with her hips and I wasted no time in grinding down on her. She broke the kiss with a pleading moan, fingers now tangled in my dark, brown hair. 

I was straining against my underwear with Holly wearing that tight, purple top of hers and plaid pajama pants, bare arms all colorful and tattooed, the little, silver ring in her nose glinting against the light. She was panting, breathing, chest heaving up and down as she stared hungrily at me. Her breasts pressed against the hem of her shirt, begging to escape. I needed to break free from my clothes and just…just fuck her! Fuck Holly! God! I wanted it so bad! But…

“I can’t.”

She didn’t ask why, nor did she try to stop me. She just lied back on the bed and sighed. “I know.”

I licked my lips and stood upright, trying to ignore my hard-on. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

“Yeah. Me too. Obviously.”

What else was there to say? I sighed. “Well…now what?”

“Can we just forget this happened? Please?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’d be best, I think.” I packed my things and drove myself home in my shitty, beat-up car. I could live with no hot water, but I couldn’t stay the night at Holly’s after that. I lied in bed that night stroking my cock to the mental image of Holly splayed out over the bed in her purple shirt. I wanted to touch her so bad, clasp my palms over her tits and give them the attention they deserved. Did I really turn her on like that? Did I make her wet? She sure made me hard. She was the perfect woman: smart, funny, better than me at practically everything, and so, so fucking hot. Just thinking about her made me want to cum. 

I resented myself for that. I needed to respect the fact that Mark had found happiness. But did he _really_ , I wondered? He sure didn’t seem too happy these days. He liked coaching, but coming home to his wife obviously wasn’t his thing. When he went out to bars, was he actually fucking around with other women? Maybe. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me. Honestly, though, I don’t think he was. 

Either way, I wasn’t about to ruin any relationships – mine and Holly’s, Holly’s and Mark’s, or mine and Mark’s – over what’d happened that night. If it was a one-time thing, then I could leave it alone. I grunted and came into my off-hand, promising myself that I would move on. 

I couldn’t, though. I thought about Holly constantly, and I could tell she thought about me too. It started small at first. I had gone over to their place while Holly grilled some burgers and Lardass sat on the couch. She flipped a patty over and gave me a wink. I ignored it. Then, she brought my plate to me and gave me a squeeze on the shoulder, one that lingered a little longer than it would have before. Some weeks later, we all went to the movies, Holly, Mark, and me with this girl I’d been seeing, a blonde. Holly and I sat between Mark and the blonde, and in the middle of the movie, Holly “accidentally” brushed against my thigh as she reached for the popcorn. Those kinds of things happened all the time. Like I said, they started off small, but quickly became more…intense.

One night, I was over at Mark and Holly’s. She picked up a stack of cups Mark had left on the floor by the recliner, loudly complaining about his having done so. “Just let me wash them,” I said.

“But I’m the wife! I have to do the dishes for my good-for-nothing husband, right?”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have cared much for that comment. Mark was still my brother. But honestly, I was pissed at him. A week ago, he commented on Holly’s weight. Some passive remark about how she might want to stop baking so many cookies if she was going to complain about the fit of her shirt. Mark was oblivious at times – like forgetting to grab the lunch Holly made him – but that comment was downright mean. After Mark left for work, Holly cried while I consoled her.

Now, I was standing there in her kitchen, watching the same sad expression fall over her face, tears in her eyes as she scrubbed the cups in the sink. I shouldn’t have done what I did, but I proceeded to wrap my arms around her waist from behind and hug her. 

Holly gently set the cup down, hands gripping the edge of the sink. Her fingernails were painted orange for Thanksgiving. She arched her back and ground her ass against my hips. _Fuck…._ I shouldn’t have. I really, really shouldn’t have. But I did. I reached around and did what I’d been dying to do all along; I squeezed her breasts through her shirt, bending over and pressing a soft kiss against her neck. Her red curls – now streaked with black – fell to the side. She moaned and shifted her hips again, rousing my dick into a state of erection.

That’s as far as it went, though. She stopped me and insisted she finish the dishes before she did something stupid. I agreed and left. A week later, though, we were sending each other lewd texts, and a week after that, pictures were involved.

Although I had never seen her naked in person, I knew what she looked like thanks to those pictures. She had the most beautiful pair of breasts I had ever seen. I loved the way Holly’s freckles descended down her neck and over her chest. Her nipples were darker than I thought they’d be, too, and it was a charming, unique physical quirk; her breasts sort of reminded me of pomegranates. She was even prettier than that blonde who I guess I’d been dating for a couple of months now. But we weren’t really serious. Sure, we went out for coffee and had dinner together, but sexting Holly wasn’t so bad. It’s not like it meant anything…even if she was gorgeous. Every last bit of her. Her face, her breasts, her hips, her pussy…

It was perfect. She trimmed it but didn’t shave, a neatly cut burst of fire erupting around her slit. Sometimes she would be wearing black lace, other times, nothing at all. Some days she would tell me she went out and bought a pair of fishnets just so she could show me how good she looked. And she always looked _incredible._

I spent so many nights at my apartment jacking off to Holly. In fact, now that we were sexting and sending videos, I was spending more and more time away from their house just so I could watch 5-second long clips of her moaning and soaking her panties. It’s all I thought about anymore. I’d go out fishing and retreat to my bunk, watching the videos I’d saved over and over, quietly masturbating in fear of my coworkers hearing or seeing me.

Mark was actually getting worried. Ever since I stopped coming over as much, he wondered if I was doing something else. Drugs, or drinking. I assured him I wasn’t, but I don’t think he was convinced. He knew something was up, but it’s not like I could look him in the eye and tell him. Still, what Holly and I were doing wasn’t sex, so like, that counted for something, right?

I realized it didn’t. We were basically fucking. My penis and her vagina had never actually touched, but it didn’t matter. We were screwing around behind Mark’s back and I knew it.

Like I said at the beginning of this story, the holidays were rolling around, and I was dreading going over to Mark and Holly’s. They hosted Christmas dinner every year, but this was the first year that it’d be all of us together: me, Holly, Mark, our sister, and our parents. Why my parents finally decided to have me over for the holidays I’ll never know.

My stomach was in knots for so many reasons I lost count. The entire drive over, I considered pulling over and spending December 23rd on the side of the road instead. Maybe I should have shaved. I had a bit of dark stubble going on. Holly said it highlighted my square jaw, but my parents would probably just think I was a wreck. And what was with my haircut? Who the fuck did I think I was, James fucking Dean? Jesus.

I pulled into the driveway next to a Prius and an SUV; my parents and sister, no doubt. I took a deep breath. Ho. Lee. Shit. This was it. This was the first time seeing my family since I screwed up my own life. I grabbed my bag of presents and left the car. The ocean gale made the collar of my leather jacket flutter. I walked up the driveway. It was about six o’clock so it was already dark, the path illuminated by a string of blue icicle lights that Mark was too lazy to hang up himself; the task fell to Holly as usual.

I reached for the doorknob. Why did I feel like I wanted to be sick? Why did my parents matter anymore? Why was I still so eager to please them after they kicked me out? I guess it wasn’t being kicked out that bothered me; it was that I had been sober for so long, and they didn’t even give me a chance to show them how hard I’d worked.

I entered the house and almost tripped over a small, blonde child. She dropped her toy truck onto the ground and adjusted her oversized construction hat, staring curiously up at me. Oh shit. That was my niece? She was so big! How old was she? Four? Another child tottered into the foyer behind her. My nephew. He must have been about two, then. I could hear a crying infant off in the other room. That’d be my youngest niece. 

“Here, give Lily the Barbie doll!” squawked a familiar voice, the voice of my sexist, religious mother.

“Holy shit, mom, let Lily work in the construction field,” said Jess, mother to all three kids.

I turned the corner into the living room. Mom was waving a doll into my heavily-pregnant sister’s face. Jess batted it out of the way, pulled herself up with a grunt, and came barreling toward me. She pulled me into a tight embrace which was actually pretty nice. 

“Oh my god John,” she beamed, grabbing my shoulders, eyes bright. “You look great! Look at you! Oh my god!”

“Language!” hissed my mother, not even bothering to greet me.

“Hi mom, missed you too,” I snarked. Jess laughed.

Jess was pretty fed up with me too back in the day. But even though I missed the birth of her first child (and subsequently the other two since she moved away) she texted and called during holidays. Our relationship was as good as it could have been considering we hadn’t seen each other in years. I mean, if you can send memes to a guy about how dumb your mom is it can’t be all that bad right?

“Ignore her,” whispered Jess. “She may still have a stick up her ass but I’m so happy you’re here! How are – LILY DON’T TOUCH THAT AND IAN GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW I’M COUNTING TO THREE, ONE, TWO…THANK YOU – doing, John?”

I glanced over at my mother who was adjusting the Barbie’s dress, eyes darting from me to the doll. She kept herself busy, pretending not to see me. I rolled my eyes. “Nauseous.”

“Hey, me too! High five!” 

I snickered and slapped her palm. “Yeah, congratulations by the way. So that’s Lily, and that’s Ian, and where’s -”

“Oh, my husband is in the guest room telling Mitzy to shut the fuck up and get a job.”

“Your infant?”

“Yeah, that jerk.” 

“JESSICA!” screeched my mother. 

“Oh my god, Mom,” wailed Jess, hands against her pregnant belly, “I don’t _actually_ talk to my kids that way. How did you raise the three of us without a sense of humor?” I never talked to Mom that way. The fact that Jess could and still feel loved by our parents told me exactly how much they hated me. 

Jess rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out of her skull. After she left the room to check on Mitzy, I plucked my presents from the bag and set them under the tree. They could be opened on Christmas proper. I spent way too long adjusting them to buy myself another couple of minutes of peace before finally growing the pair of balls needed to sit down next to my mother.

“Hi.”

“Hello, John. How are you today?”

I don’t know what it was. I don’t know if it was the way the baby was wailing or the way Holly was arguing with Mark in the kitchen over a pie or the way my father was chasing the kids around honking like a goose…? for some reason…? and actively avoiding me, but I snapped. Of course my version of “snapping” was a little low-key.

“I’m fine, thank you. Could I please try today’s special?”

“Pardon?”

I scoffed. “Come on, Mom. What is this, customer service? Talk to me like I’m a fucking person.”

She exhaled through her nose, dropped her shoulders which had visibly tensed when I sat down, and said, “Fine. Do you really expect me to sit here and believe you’re completely sober?”

“Well I sure didn’t expect you to be wearing the same hideous reindeer sweater you had five years ago, but here we are.”

“This was a gift from your father!”

“So was I, but I still look like shit.”

Mom looked appalled. Was it because I actually talked back to her? Because I swore at her? Because I insulted her sweater? All of the above?

Holly peeled into the room in her black apron with the metal studs around the pocket. _Hot_. She may have been smiling, but her eyes told me she was about to burn this whole motherfucker to the ground. Clapping her hands together, she squealed, “Pie’s done! It’s undercooked!”

“It’s not!” shouted Mark from the other room.

“It totally is but whatever! Okay! Enjoy, people!” 

Pie before dinner was a tradition, one that Mark started when we were kids. The family enjoyed their pie but I couldn’t. Instead, I hung out by the pool out back, watching the shadows of the ripples reflect against the folding chairs. It was way too cold to be hanging out by the light of the pool, but hey, at least it was quiet. I heard the sliding glass door open and close way over by the deck across the lawn.

Great. What now? A kid? Or worse, a parent? But it was Holly. She wasn’t wearing her apron anymore. Now she was wearing a sparkling, black dress with a little red pin on the front. What were those flowers called? Poinsettias? She took the liberty of pulling up a chair next to mine. “Smoke?”

I chuckled. “Since when do you smoke?” 

“Since this morning. I forgot to buy a lighter though, so…”

I smiled and pulled a lighter out of my jacket. Never thought I’d be happy to be a smoker. I lit hers up and she offered me one as well. We sat side by side, smoking in silence until finally I asked, 

“Got an ash tray?”

“Nope.”

“So you’re just going to litter? Holly…” 

“Yep. Gonna flick this bitch right into the pool and lie to my husband about it. Say it was the neighbors.” I silently laughed. “So where’s Deanna?” she asked.

I exhaled smoke. It wafted into the brisk air. My eyes followed the outline of its cloud until I was left staring up at the clear, night sky. “Who?”

“Deanna? Your girlfriend?”

“Oh.” I flicked my ashes onto the ground. “Wouldn’t really say she’s my girlfriend.”

“Uhhh, really? Because she got you a fucking _Rolex._ ”

“Oh yeah. It really suits me,” I answered sarcastically.

“Dude you are _so_ missing the point. She’s crazy about you.”

“Crazy, sure. You know I met her at a strip club, right?”

“The same one I met Mark at?” 

“Yeah, next door to the one where _I_ work.”

“Across the street from my strip club?”

“No, you’re a ways down on the seedier end of the block.” 

“Oh, so Deanna works at that real, high-end strip club over by 8th and Cherry then.”

I nodded. “She prefers the term ‘gentlemen’s club.’” 

“Eh, so does Mark. Pisses me off. It’s a goddamn strip joint and he knows it.”

We paused, looked at each other, and laughed. We were both so full of shit. It was nice to get away from the anxiety and noise of the house and just…breathe. 

As promised, Holly went to flick her smoke into the pool. “Wait,” I said, and plucked it from her fingers. I extinguished it on the ground and placed the butt in my pack, doing the same with my own cigarette right after. “There are better ways to rebel, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” She shot me a teasing glance. Yeah. I guess cheating was one way. Better though? Not so much. I don’t know how I knew what she was going to say next. I just did. Holly got this look on her face and I just…knew. “We’re filing for divorce.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I dunno.” She started fidgeting with her fingers. Ordinarily she would have cried. I don’t know if she didn’t want to mess up her pretty makeup – dark eyeliner and red wings that matched her lips – or if she was just beyond crying at that point. “Mark wants to try couple’s counseling, but…”

“Wait, _Mark_ wants to do counseling?”

“Oh, sure, now he does. I tried for years, Johnny, and he always told me no. Now that I want a divorce he suddenly wants to get his life together.” She snorted and glared. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“You don’t want to give it a shot?”

“I’m done. I get it, man. I’ve gained some weight. I bitch a lot. But you know what? He never shuts up about it. It’s always, _Holly, maybe you shouldn’t eat that cookie,_ or, _can you stop complaining about dirty dishes for five seconds?_ Like, yeah, Mark. I’ll stop eating cookies when you stop complaining about how I don’t bake you enough cookies! I’ll stop screaming about dirty dishes when you wash your own goddamn dishes! Oh, and then there’s the whole baby thing.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. I didn’t tell you about that? Mark wants kids. _Kids,_ Johnny. I told him I didn’t want any stupid little brats _way_ before we got married. Now suddenly he’s ‘inspired’ by his students,” she made violent air quotes, “and thinks a baby is gonna save our marriage. He wants to see me get pregnant. Which is rich considering that fat piece of shit never leaves me alone about my weight!” She ended on a bitter note. Then, she got quiet, sank back into her chair, and said, “Sorry. I know he’s still your brother. I shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

I shook my head. “It’s alright. I’m not exactly thrilled with the way Mark’s been treating you.”

“Really?” She shot me a wily side glance, like she was excited I was taking her side.

“Listen, honestly, I’m all for you and Mark getting a divorce.” I was surprised to see that she actually looked a little sad, like hearing it from someone else awakened her to the harsh reality of the situation. “You’ve been cheating on him for months, now. Mark doesn’t deserve that. And you sure as hell don’t deserve to be treated the way you’re being treated. If you both back out now, you can save each other a lot of heartache. It’s not too late. Get a divorce, Holly.”

Now she really was crying. Not a ton, but little tears skittered down her freckled cheeks, spilling out from under her glasses. She quickly wiped them away. Then, out of the blue, she said, “I’m so horny right now.”

My heart jumped into my throat. And wouldn’t you know it, my blood rearranged itself too, mostly into one, particular area…

Holly hiked her dress up, slowly revealing a red, lacy pair of panties as well as a new tattoo on her thigh. It was hard to see in the dark – some kind of sunflower, maybe? – but holy shit. I felt my adam’s apple dip in my throat. Holly then bent her knees, holding them up against her chest, and slipped her hand into her underwear. I was speechless. 

I watched her finger herself, quietly allowing her head to lull from side to side as she moaned. Fuck I was getting hard. I thought I was going to lose it when she took her finger out, sucked the slick from it, and went right back to penetrating herself. Shit.

I reached for my zipper, ready to take myself out and silently masturbate while Holly did the same. Then, the sliding door slid open. Holly’s feet slammed back onto the ground and I flung my back against the chair. “Holly!” shouted Mark.

“Y-yeah?!” she stammered.

“Dinner! My brother with you?”

“He’s swimming, he’ll be out in a minute!” she joked.

Mark didn’t respond, which actually made me a little sad. A long time ago, he reveled in her humor. Now it was like he didn’t even care. Holly and I shot each other cautious glances and got up to go inside. 

Dinner was awkward to say the least. First of all, Holly and Mark were seated on opposite ends of the ovular table. Holly was at the end, then going left, there was me, my sister Jess, her husband Whatshisface, Thing 1, Thing 2, Small Thing in High-Chair, Mark, Dad, and finally, Mom who looked like sitting so close to me was the last thing she wanted to do for Christmas.

At that point, Dad and I hadn’t even spoken, and Mom was shooting daggers at me. Even Whatshisface had made an effort to talk to me, told me I did a great job getting clean (which honestly felt a little patronizing, but at least his heart was in the right place) and attempted to talk sports with me. Not really my thing, but fortunately, Mark chimed in and steered the conversation. 

“This is so frigging good,” said Jess, tearing into the turkey. I had hardly touched mine. I was too nervous.

“Thanks! Hunted it myself,” replied Holly.

“Really?!”

“No, I’m full of sh…crap,” she corrected, glancing over at the kids. 

Jess snickered and muttered, “Shit is my oldest’s favorite word. We’re working on that.”

In some bizarre attempt to break away from the tedium, I looked at my two or three year old nephew and asked, “Do you have a favorite word?”

He blinked, and with a mouthful of potatoes, said, “DOODY!”

“Me too,” I agreed just to make him laugh. Can’t believe it worked. Never thought I was great with kids, but hey, uncle points. 

I guess this stirred something in my dad because he suddenly asked, “So where do you work now, Kiddo?”

 _Kiddo?_ Wow, Dad. Diving in head first, are we? Still, I appreciated it. Sometimes I wondered if my dad wanted to see me after all, if it was Mom who encouraged him to disown me. It wouldn’t have surprised me. Dad was always more patient. Either way I would have been bitter about him siding with Mom, but if we were going to try and salvage things, why not start here?

“I’m still fishing.”

“Good pay?”

“My apartment has plaster now. You tell me.” Everyone except my mother and the tots laughed. “What about you, Dad? How are you?”

“Let’s just say it’s good to be here with the family. The _whole_ family.” He exchanged glances with Mom, a look of ‘I told you so’ written across his face. Son of a bitch. I was right. He did want to see me after all. 

I was furious. My dad I could forgive, but Mom? Fuck her. Fuck that bitch. Keeping my own father away from me. I’m surprised she didn’t try to sway Mark, too. Hell, maybe she did, and Mark just didn’t tell me about it. I may not have been a fan of the way he treated Holly, but damn if he didn’t always have my back when I needed him. He was a great brother, and I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about-

_Oh my god. Oh fuck. Fuck, jesus._

After digging my fork into a piece of turkey, I paused. Holly’s hand was buried under the long tablecloth and was now sliding in between my legs. Dad said something else to me but I couldn’t concentrate. Holly was starting to rub my crotch and I was getting hard. 

“What, Dad?” I asked, trying my damnedest to keep a straight face. I couldn’t exactly tell Holly to stop. 

“Ugh. Mark!” barked Holly. “Can you please turn off the game?”

Oh, so that’s why Mark was sitting across from Holly. He could see the television from over there. Everything was so loud ever since I showed up: yapping children and my dad egging them on and the clatter of dishes and Mom shouting about how Jess should raise her kids and the noise of Mark popping open his fourth or fifth beer. I didn’t even notice the TV. 

“What? Babe. Overtime.”

Holly gritted her teeth, glared at Mark, and squeezed my cock through my pants. “Mm…” Fortunately my sudden noise made sense considering I had just taken a bite of my food.

“Mark. Sweetheart. It’s Christmas dinner.”

“It’s two days before Christmas.”

“Mark,” Holly’s fingers slid over my crotch. _Oh. Oh fuck._ “Please.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” wailed Mom. “Marcus Henry Clark, you listen to your wife! She put all of her time and effort into cooking this delicious meal and all you can think about is _watching the blah blah blah blah blah blah blah_

Holly’s hand was really going at it, working me in a firm, consistent way. I was dying, _dying_ to get off. I thought I was going to scream when she dexterously undid my button. I shot her a look which I hoped she would take to mean ‘this feels great and is a horrible idea,’ but instead took to mean, ‘I am going to make you cum in your pants idiot.’ Fortunately, nobody heard my zipper unzip. Holly stuck her hand down my pants and seized my dick. And wouldn’t you know it, I was so nervous getting dressed earlier that I couldn’t find my one, clean pair of underwear. Briefs? Who need’em! Not dumbfuck Johnny! She gave me a pump and I hunched over a little, trying to look like I was just really, _really_ into my food. 

“I helped too,” argued Mark.

“Did you, though?” chided Holly, thumb grazing my head. _Oh my god…_

“Did I not help out with the casserole?”

Holly snorted. “You mean the one we threw out because you burned it? Is that why you took the pie out so soon? You were afraid you were gonna burn that, too? And now everyone has to eat raw pie?”

“Raw? You mean _undercooked?_ Pies can’t be raw.”

“Same diff. Your cooking sucks, bae.” All eyes were on Holly. She took a long drink of her champagne. So long she finished it off. She slammed the glass back on the table and said, “Kidding! I’m sooo kidding! I love you Mark.”

Mark was oblivious to her insults, how livid she truly was behind that fake ass smile of hers. “Love you too, baby.” He dug back into his food.

Just as Holly gave me a couple of firm pumps - _mmm…fuck that felt nice_ \- my mother reached over and tapped her on the arm. “Are you sure you should be drinking that in such close proximity to…” Those cold eyes of hers glanced up at me.

“What, been out of my life so long you can’t remember my fucking name?” I griped, partially because I was angry at her but also because, you know, Holly was jerking me off under the table. How had no one caught on? 

“Oop!” chuckled Sister’s Husband, trying to drown out the sound of my curse. Jess laughed, though. 

“It isn’t funny, Jessica Anne,” insisted Mom. “Your brother has a problem: drinking, cursing, cocaine, sex…”

“Oh no!” shrieked Jess, slapping me on the arm, “you started having sex?! There’s no going back now, Ma, John’s a lost cause.” 

I would have laughed if my dick wasn’t being pumped into next week. Holly did it again, her fist colliding with my base and slowly stroking up to my head, tugging my foreskin in just the right – or maybe wrong – way. “Shit!” I exclaimed, barely suppressing an orgasm.

Everyone stopped and turned to face me. Holly didn’t relent. _Oh fuck…ohhh fuck…_ “Uh…n-nothing,” I breathed, “I just…remembered…I uh…have work tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to leave early do you?” asked Jess. 

“Actually, maybe I should go home and…and…”

“No fucking way,” interrupted Holly. My mom shot her a cautious glance. She was always one to side with women, but Holly had also just cursed. “Sorry, I mean, no flobbing way.” Holly stopped jerking me off. _Finally._ I exhaled and went back to eating my food, pondering when an opportune time would be to zip my pants back up without anyone noticing. 

The next half hour was spent covering up our curse words with funny substitutions. Holly started it, but Jess quickly adopted it too. “Can you pass the forking salt?” she asked. Mark passed it and replied, “Hork yeah I can.” Mom was not having it. She got visibly angrier every time someone did it. Dad gave a nervous laugh and asked people to ease up on it, but when Jess’s husband did it again by saying something followed by “gorramnit!” Mom lost it. After all, a _man_ had just _cursed_! Kind of! 

Missing the obvious Firefly reference, Mom scooted out her chair and said, “Thank you for inviting us, but we’re leaving! I cannot abide by such rude behavior!”

Everyone moaned “come on” and “Mom” and “sit down” all at once. 

“Let’s go, Harold!”

“Mom!” screeched Jess, “We’re just razzing you, sit down.”

“Stop making up fake curse words!”

“What? I didn’t!”

“Oh, and what kind of word is ‘razzing?!’”

“Razzing? It’s a real fucking word Mom! Shit. Shoot. Sorry.”

“Jessica Anne!”

“Okay, no, you should probably go, I’m a hormonal wreck. Actually, we should probably go too. Babe, you drive. I wanna lean my seat back and think about how Mom got pregnant outside of wedlock, but complains about John having sex. Ooh, we can listen to that Alanis Morrissette album on the drive over to Mom and Dad’s! You know, the one where she talks about irony. Anyway, thanks for dinner! See you all on Christmas!”

Mom scoffed and Dad gave me a pat on the shoulder before they headed out to the car. It took fifteen minutes, but my sister finally wrangled up the kids and took off behind Mom and Dad. Now it was just me, Holly, and Mark. 

Mark was still sitting on the opposite end of the table. He never did turn off the TV, nor did he stop drinking. He looked wasted. Figured. That’s all he did anymore, drink and watch TV. I wondered how he could bitch about Holly’s weight when he was on his third plate of food and his millionth beer. 

“Mark,” said Holly.

He didn’t reply.

“Mark.”

Nothing.

“Maaaaar-”

“Hm?” he glanced up. Yeah, wow. He was plastered. 

“You drunk, baby?”

“’M not sup’r drumpk.”

“’Course you’re not,” Holly replied with a fake smile, adjusting her glasses. Mark shifted his focus back to the television. Holly’s face fell. She looked at me and shook her head. Sighing, she went to take the last bite of her fruit salad, and ‘dropped’ her fork onto the floor. “Oops. Silly me. I’ve dropped my fork onto the floor.” She kicked it under the table. Wait. What was she…? Holly scooted her chair out, sank to the floor, and crawled underneath the long, flowing tablecloth. “Don’t stop the party, people! Stupid Holly just dropped her fork! Don’t worry! She’ll get it!”

She was shouting at that point. Mark was _trashed._ He didn’t hear a damn word she was saying. He just watched TV and let his eyelids droop. Jesus. No wonder she wanted a fucking divorce. Believe me, I’d been there, drinking so much I was useless. If that’s what Mark looked like, then I wondered how bad I must have looked before I sobered up. Suddenly, a hot sensation claimed my dick.

“Ah!” 

My entire body jerked, jostling the glasses on the table. Oh my god. My dick was inside of her mouth. And it felt _amazing._ I thought about telling her to stop, that this was wrong – lord only knows Mark wouldn’t have heard me – but something about the way he reminded me of myself, something about the way he was sitting there like a piece of shit so deep in his own drink that he couldn’t even hear his wife, made me angry. Livid, really. Motivated entirely by self-loathing, I looked Mark square in the face and grunted, feeling the warmth of his wife’s mouth sheathing my cock. 

Holly’s hands met my shaft, working me to full erection quicker than I imagined possible. She pumped me over and over again, sucking my head. Her hands gave long, teasing strokes, and every suck was lighter, gentler than the one before it. She could take her time and she knew it; Mark was off in his own world. 

I let her build me up, feeling that first flare of ecstasy spark in my groin. She felt so, so good down there. And there was something crazy hot about not being able to see her. I closed my eyes and licked my lips, feeling her soft palm tug at me from top to bottom, bottom to top. 

I accidently moved my hips. Whatserface – Deanna – was alright in bed, but fuck Deanna. Holly was the only person I cared about. And now she was getting me so hot that I felt like I needed to cum. I pictured her lying there with that purple shirt of hers – the one she wore that time she pulled me on top of her on hers and Mark’s bed – picturing myself fucking her tits. 

I have no idea why God or whatever sadistic deity in charge of sex acts felt like I deserved this, but Holly pulled back, and five seconds later, I _was_ fucking her tits. Well, she was fucking my dick _with_ her tits. 

Her head bumped against the table. Glasses shook and silverware moved around. I was so wet from her blowjob that her breasts were slick, encasing my erection and rubbing me toward release. I was afraid I was going to lose it right then and there. 

“’R y’okay babeh?” slurred Mark, looking around for Holly. _Shit,_ I thought.

“Yeah!” she hollered. “Just fishing around for my fork! Go watch the game!”

“Don’ godda tell me twice,” chuckled Mark, and peeled his hairy ass out of the chair. He swayed.

“Whoa. You okay bro?” I asked. He didn’t look so hot. 

Mark just laughed and laughed, stumbling into the living room behind the dividing wall and out of sight. I heard him collapse into his recliner. The springs complained. I think he may have broken it. He grunted and, I assume, deflated. 

With Mark out of the room, I leaned my head back and groaned, “Fuck, Holly!” 

“Do you like fucking my tits, Johnny?”

I clutched the edges of my chair. “Oh my god, you feel so good…”

“Look how hard you are.” She pushed her tits against my groin and slid them up, up, up until they were at my head. She jiggled them around and squeezed my erection in between them. I swallowed and moved my hips, a low rumble coming from the back of my throat. “Yeah…I love feeling your cock grinding up on me…” She held my dick in between her breasts and flicked her thumb over my head. After a small giggle, she said, “You’re so horny, aren’t you? Look at all this precum coming out of your cock. Oh my god, Johnny, I wanna fuck you so bad right now…”

Just like that, I was inside of her mouth again. I released a little “ohhh” and looked to the left just to make sure Mark wasn’t standing in the doorway or something. He wasn’t. He was probably passed out on the recliner. I watched the blue light from the TV flicker off the walls, feeling my cock encased between Holly’s hot, full lips. She sucked and sucked, tongue swiveling across my shaft. Oh god. I was gonna cum if she didn’t stop, cum right down her throat and-

The tablecloth billowed and two hands shot out, grabbing me by my shirt. I fell onto the ground with a loud thud, the chair dropping onto the carpet behind me. Holly stuck her head out of the tablecloth and kissed me harder than I’ve ever been kissed before. 

Our tongues fought their way over each other, past each other, right down each other’s throats. Our lips clashed like waves, arms locking around each other’s bodies while we moaned and our bodies collided. 

Holly pulled – actually _pulled_ my legs under the table. Everything from my chest-down was hidden behind the flowing cloth. She wasted no time in straddling me. The first couple times she rocked her hips, I could feel her sparkling dress brush against my middle. But then, she hitched it up, grazing the tip of my cock with her tuft of red hair. I couldn’t see it because of the tablecloth, but I knew from her pictures that her hair was the color of fire.

“Oh…” I groaned. The thought alone made my balls churn. 

Soft, warm walls sheathed my dick and I groaned again, this time louder, more ragged. My groan turned into a noise more desperate as Holly took my entire length. I didn’t mean to be that loud, but I was so fucking turned on, and it’s not like Little Miss Christmas Spirit was so quiet herself. 

“Oh fuck!” she whimpered, starting to ride me in slow, deliberate thrusts. I was dying. Absolutely dying. Every single one of her slow movements teased and tortured me. My balls hurt so bad. I just wanted release. No, I _needed_ it. “Ohhh!” she moaned again, picking up the pace now. Her hips started rocking in a more regular, consistent pattern.

Holy shit she was wet, walls sliding up and down my erection. She felt so good that it was getting to be unbearable. I watched the tablecloth move in front of me, jostling each time Holly rocked forward. And every time she did, a sweet, little mewl spilled forth from her lips. “Ah! Ah! Yeah! Mm! Ah!”

I reached under the tablecloth and felt around for her breasts. Once I found them, I squeezed. She moaned. Damn, I loved the way she filled my hands up, and then some. I felt for her nipples with my thumbs, finally finding them and giving them a few flicks to tease them. They were already hard and pert. 

“Oh my god that feels good Johnny!”

I gave them each a firm squeeze, eliciting a more desperate, high-pitched wail from Holly. It also made her ride me faster and harder, ass slamming down against my hips like the world was going to end and I was the last person she’d ever get to fuck. 

I jerked my hips and Holly’s collided with mine. _Slam! Slam! Slam!_ and each time, “Oh! OH! **OH!** ” 

Oh my god, I was getting really hot. Every time I sank inside of her that coil built and built. It was getting to be a little much. My mouth was dry, chest heaving with every shaky breath. Holly and her desperate, needy moans were getting me so horny. If Mark had walked – stumbled – into the room, he would have found his own brother panting on the dining room floor, chest and head sticking out from underneath the table with stars in his eyes. 

Release was building, tugging at my groin in hard, sudden waves. Every time she collided with me, the tension increased tenfold. “Oh, fuck, Holly!” I groaned, shakily squeezing her tits, thumbs working her nipples.

She was bouncing onto my cock without reprieve. “Oh!” she moaned. “Right there! Oh my god right there! Oh fuck!”

Uh oh. _UH OH._ I was gonna cum. Oh god, I was gonna cum and I was gonna cum now. But Holly was still riding me, and it sounded like she was going to cum too. I needed to pull out. Shove her off. Blow my load onto the ground, skip town, and cut every last person out of my life before I made things worse. But she was bouncing and bouncing and her hips and ass felt so fucking good that I needed it, I needed Holly and I needed to feel her pussy and I needed to cum, _oh, I need to…I need to-_

“-cum Holly, I’m gonna cum!” 

The next time she slammed down on me I exploded inside of her, tilting my head back and gritting my teeth. She whimpered and rocked her hips again. Every time she did, it drew another gush of cum from my cock, and every rock was accompanied by Holly chanting, “I’m coming! I’m coming! Yeah! Oohhh yeahhh fuck me harder!”

Holly spent me. Absolutely spent me. She collapsed breathlessly onto the ground a moment later, crawling out from under the table like a cockroach. God knows I felt like one. Disgusting and unwanted and vile. What had I done? I had just single-handedly ruined my brother’s marriage, that’s what I’d done. I mean sure it was on the rocks, but you don’t stomp the life out of a dying insect. You just let it die in peace. Damn.

But there I was, and there Holly was. We lied on the ground stewing in sweat, cum, and regret. Such was my life. After all the effort it took to get my act together… _this was what I had done._

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to request an erotic work for your original characters or plot, or an existing universe, please don't hesitate to reach out. This is a queer-friendly space; I write fiction which includes all genders and orientations. Have a specific kink in mind? Tell me about it! I will never kink-shame you. My only rules are: no poop, no underage, no bestiality, no nonconsent. I'm a pretty sick individual so odds are you aren't going to scare me off. Besides, I love a challenge. PM or comment what you'd like written and I'll give it an honest shot.


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